The Iron in Blood by Jenny Doe (primary phonics .txt) 📕

“Funny thing is,” he smiled wistfully, “my father always refused to believe me, that I was capable of such things. When I promised to tame my monster, he told me I already had, just by acknowledging its existence, and resolving not to succumb to it.”

“It’s not that easy, though. Sometimes that beast rears its ugly head whether I want it to or not.” He paused again and then he turned his head to look at me, a wry, sad smile on his face. “I’ve got a feeling we might see it tonight.”

Rebecca

My anger grew with my discomfort. It’s amazing, but once I’d stopped feeling so helpless, once I’d realised that there was a way that I could escape from this situation, I stopped being afraid. The fact that I was going to have to kill one of these morons was an added bonus, of course.

We had been driving for what felt like hours. Then somebody started speaking.

“Jack,” said the voice, harsh and dry sounding. “I have a present for you.” The tone was wheedling, and I didn’t like the lascivious way he said present. I wondered who this Jack was, and what the present was. Then I realised that I was supposed to be the present. Gross.

“It’s a young female.” Pause. “Yes, I’m pretty sure she’s one of us.” Pause. “Someone posted a video clip on youtube of her hitting someone’s nose. Her expression when she saw the blood on her hand! She was hungry, Jack.”

Damn. They knew I was a vampire and that’s how they’d found me. I resolved to find the person who had posted that footage and hurt them. I was still dwelling on this when the pillowcase was suddenly tugged off my head, and the mobile pointed at me. Click. The bastard had taken a photograph of me. I watched as he smiled to himself, and pressed a few buttons on the phone, sending my image through cyberspace and to the waiting phone of Jack, whoever that was. I studied the speaker with narrowed eyes. He looked awful, like he had some kind of nasty wasting disease. Skinny, with dry mottled skin and bony hands and face. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. He glanced up at me and his deep set eyes shone with triumph.

Angus

It was dark when we finally reached the estate. I felt an overwhelming nostalgia as I drove through the gates, and down the tree lined drive. I was born here, and I’d grown up in the house that loomed ahead. I had spent much of my relatively carefree childhood running through these woods that surrounded us, playing assorted childhood games that all involved improvised weapons, improbable plots and long, drawn out chase scenes. Such a long time ago.

Mark hadn’t said much since I’d told him about killing that trapper when I was seventeen. I had wondered if he had been repulsed or afraid, so I had reached briefly into his mind. I was surprised by what I sensed. No shock or horror at all. Instead there was acceptance and understanding and even compassion. He was definitely older than his fourteen years. I knew then that bringing him had not been a mistake. He reminded me of my humanity, or what there was of it. When Fergus tracked those vampires down, and sent me the information I needed, I knew I would have to leave Mark behind here. I couldn’t let him see what I was going to do.

The old stone house looked welcoming, even after all these years. I hadn’t been back here in decades. There was more ivy growing up the walls than there had been the last time I’d been here, but other than that it looked the same. Timeless. Fergus had made sure that someone had always looked after the place.

The heavy wooden front door was unlocked, and we walked into the warmly lit front room. There was a fire burning in the grate, flanked by two elderly leather armchairs, and Mark made a beeline for it and held his hands out. It was colder here than down south in England, but I felt invigorated by the frosty air. Mark just felt cold, I suppose.

I showed him briefly around the house, turning up the central heating along the way. He dived into the fridge as soon as we entered the oversized kitchen, and hauled out the roast the housekeeper had left for us. I left him to dish up, and went to look for my packages. I found them in a shed near the front door of the house. I carried them indoors to the kitchen where Mark was already chewing on a hunk of roast beef.

“I thought you were a vegetarian,” I teased him.

“Nah, Mum’s a vegetarian. We just go along with it for her. I’ve eaten meat before. Delicious.” He smiled happily.

I lifted the wrapped packages onto the big oak table in the middle of the kitchen.

“I’m just going to check these out, make sure they work.”

“Sure,” Mark nodded, too busy carving the roast to look up. “Potatoes?”

“Please.”

I unwrapped the largest of the three parcels, and lifted the Heckler and Koch sniper rifle out of its protective cocoon of bubble wrap. It was in good condition. Not brand new, but looked after, like somebody had appreciated it. It was a weapon I had used many times in Germany; it was reliable and accurate, and could fire up to twenty rounds without having to be reloaded. I would have to check that it was in working order in a few minutes, and line up the scope. I had a laser in my pocket for that purpose, and a few shots in the countryside were likely to go unnoticed. The second largest package contained the rounds for the rifle, as well as those for the handguns. Hollow tipped, like I’d requested. I thought of them splitting apart on impact and exploding through the soft inner organs of Rebecca’s kidnappers, and I smiled to myself.

The Glocks were in the smaller package, also used, but in good condition. The ballistic vest was top of the range. I was touched by Fergus’ thoughtfulness. I would test all the firearms after I’d eaten. As I ate my supper and watched Marks wide eyes drift over the weapons laid out on the table, I wondered what progress Fergus was making.

Rebecca

My arms were really aching by the time the van finally lurched to a standstill. And I needed to pee.

It was dark outside, but as the guy with the gruff voice grabbed my left arm and lifted me out of my huddled position in the back of the van, I was able to make out some kind of artificial light source coming from somewhere nearby. A building, maybe. I was flung unceremoniously over the gruff man’s shoulder, compressing my already uncomfortably distended bladder. I concentrated for a few seconds on trying to control the urge to pee, and then I gave up and peed all over my kidnapper. Serve him right. He swore and I giggled. He swore some more.

It was strange, really. A part of me was afraid, but I was also enjoying the anger that pulsed through me. I wondered if Angus felt like this all the time. Just thinking of him made my heart leap. I had spent a lot of time thinking in that grubby van. And what I had been thinking about most was Angus, and the way he looked and felt and smelled. It struck me after a while that the thought of never seeing my mother or Mark or Joe again saddened me. But the thought of never seeing Angus again wrenched my soul. I suppose it was time to admit that I was insanely in love with him. Rubbish timing, obviously, but I couldn’t help that.

I looked around as best I could while I was being carried. His hip got in the way, but I was able to make out a large building. It looked like some sort of institution, like a hospital maybe, or a home for the elderly. There was a ramp for wheelchairs leading up to the front door. Weird place to take a kidnap victim.

My captor turned before he reached the entrance and headed out towards the right side of the building. I squinted to see where he was heading. I could just make out what looked like an old stone barn. Great. Isolated and draughty. A much more suitable place to detain a prisoner.

The barn was lit by a solitary bulb that dangled from higher up in the recesses of the barn roof. There were sacks of compost stacked against one wall, and a row of rusting gardening implements along another. Gruff man stopped suddenly, and I saw his companion struggling with a large trapdoor in the floor. It had been cunningly hidden under a few empty bags and some dirt. He lifted the trapdoor, revealing old stone stairs leading downwards. A torch flickered into life in his hand and they both started down those stairs, reluctantly but inevitably accompanied by me.

Mark

The call came just after six thirty. Angus was outside, checking that the guns worked properly, or something like that. I picked up the phone and carried it outside, still ringing. Angus appeared like a ghost out of nowhere in seconds. He pressed a button on the phone and said, “Yes, Fergus. What have you got?”

“There are two possibles. The more likely one is about fifty miles from where you are now. There’s a privately funded care home for people with some degenerative neurological disorder. The reason I’m a bit suspicious of it is that Marcus tells me that people with this disorder rarely live beyond five years at the most. Some of the people in this place have been there twenty years and up.”

“Hmmm.”

“Indeed. There were a few unexplained and deeply suspicious deaths in that vicinity in the late 1800’s.”

“What’s the address?”

Fergus read out the name of the place, and the postal code. I knew Angus would be able to punch that into his satnav. Easier than tracking by smell.

“How many residents?”

“Eleven. The staff appear to have evenings off. Strictly nine to five working hours.”

“Auxiliary staff?”

“Nothing registered. But cash can still buy you an army.”

“Yeah.”

“Look after yourself, brother.” Click. This family were clearly not big on the whole hello and goodbye thing.

I looked up into Angus’ hardening face, and I was suddenly afraid for my friend. He was a good man, whether he chose to believe it or not, and I didn’t want him to die tonight.

Rebecca

They dumped me in what looked like an old fashioned dungeon, and slammed the solid wooden door shut. Massive iron bars appeared to have grown out of the stone floor and into the thick beams in the ceiling. My cell was about three feet by five feet, dusty, with a rough wooden bench along the far wall. I stood with my back to the bars as ordered while one of my captors sliced through the cable ties around my wrists and ankles. As soon as they had freed me from my restraints, they stepped away from the bars. I turned to watch them as I massaged my wrists and stretched my arms out. They were leaning against the wall farthest from my cell. Clearly taking no chances. What a shame. I sat down on the bench and leaned my back against the rough stone wall.

“Oscar’s been wrong before.” The gruff man smiled evilly at me, although he was clearly talking to his colleague.

“Yeah, that was fun. She was a bit of a screamer, though. But nobody can hear screams through this lot,” he pointed at the ceiling. “It’s soundproof, baby.” He sneered the last word at me.

I wondered if